


Trud

by Adara_Rose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abortion, Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: “Why have you come to me?” She asked eventually when the silence stretched on too long. He hung his head, unable to look at her. "I cannot make you forget."“I need your help to get rid of the reminder” he whispered, sounding so lost she felt like crying.





	Trud

He came to her close to crying, and Freyja was quite alarmed. Being more or less an ambassador for Vanaheim in addition to an asynja, she had of course met the young princes many times. But that did not change the fact that she was both alarmed and confused to find one of them on the doorstep to Sessrumnir late at night, when she could still hear the sounds of revelry going on in the distance. 

  


“Come in” she offered quietly, not wanting to wake her maids who were good women but unfortunately prone to gossip. He followed her deeper into the hall, all the way into the area that was hers alone and none visited without her explicit permission. There, she sat him down on a bench and waited, knowing eventually the tears and the silence would give away to words he had no way of saying at the present.

As she waited, she brewed him tea of a sort common in Vanaheim, adding plenty of honey to soothe the bitter notes.

Eventually, once the tea had been drunk and most of the tears had been wept, he seemed ready to speak.

  


“He called it a mistake” he began, as if she was to know what he was referring to. Freyja nodded in understanding she lacked.

“The most beautiful thing I had and he-” He looked down at his shaking hands, still holding the empty mug.

“He said it was a mistake. That I had… that he was drunk.”

“Was he?” Freyja questioned gently, feeling that this wound needed to bleed dry before any healing could take place.

He shook his head. Then bit his lip, nodded.

“So was I” he defended himself.

“But not as drunk as he.”

He looked away, unable to meet her calm eyes.

“He said I… I took advantage. If I ever… approach him again he… he will tell father I…”

The words refused to come. Freyja waited, refilling his cup with still hot tea.

“It wasn’t rape” he pleaded with her, “I swear-”

“I believe you.” she soothed, not knowing if she really did or just said it to calm him.

He drank some tea, grimacing at the taste. She offered him the jar of honey.

  


“Why have you come to me?” She asked eventually, when the silence stretched on too long. He hung his head, unable to look at her.

“He told me he never wanted to be reminded of it. To forget would be the kindest thing I’ve ever done.” he replied miserably.

“And you cannot forget. I cannot make you.”

He shook his head firmly.

“I do not want to forget. No. I want to remember. I will never know his touch again, I want to know it always.”

So he was in love, then, as she had suspected for so long. In love, and heartbroken, and all alone.

“I need your help to get rid of the reminder” he whispered, sounding so lost she felt like crying.

It took several moments to understand what he meant, but she did not fully comprehend until she placed her hands on his abdomen and sensed the spark there.

  


“He wants to forget” she said, hands still pressed into his skin, “and you want to remember.”

“I will remember” he said quietly, “I need no reminder. But he can’t have one, or he will never forgive me. Not truly.”

Freyja doubted he ever would, anyway. But what had been done had been done, the deed existed now, even if one wanted to deny that it did. And the other had come to her, desperate to please one who would not be pleased.

It was a lousy reason for what he was asking, but she understood.

  


“I can help” she said eventually, when his eyes turned pleadingly to her. “But there are laws.”

He nodded, not understanding.

“I an vanir” said Freyja, “I obey vanir laws, not asgardian. And vanir law says that there must be a name given, even to the unborn. Especially to the unborn, for else they will not rest peacefully.”

He looked at her without comprehension.

“I will not let the princess of asgard become a myrling, little prince. You will name her, as I kill her.”

  


The drink she prepared made him go into labour, and fearful of being discovered he laboured in silence, his face twisted in agony and despair as no sound left his open mouth. 

Freyja waited, as still and calm as the seas, watching impassively as that which was not slipped from between his legs to lie still in a pool of blood, blood she would clean before first light so no one would be able to see what had passed this night. Once Odin woke from his slumber and once more sent his ravens forth into the world, all trace would be gone.

  


She laid that which was a child and was not in a wicker basket, covering it with a white cloth that immediately stained.

“A name” she reminded the young prince as he sat up slowly, wincing in pain.

He told her the name, and she left him there to finish what she had started.

  


She wrote the name - _ Trud- _ in blood in the basket before she put it on the stream outside Sessrumnir.

As dawn rose, she set it alight.

  


Shortly after, the prince went home, where he let his brother think he had lain with another bar wench, even though there would later be whispers about him leaving Sessrumnir. Freyja never denied them, nor did she confirm. The truth of that night was a secret between three souls; two living, one dead.

  


And Thor never told anyone either, about the child that he had killed. It was the only way he could ensure Loki forgot the night she was created.


End file.
